


Of Elvenhome

by pasunedame



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-26
Updated: 2018-09-26
Packaged: 2019-07-17 19:36:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16102376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pasunedame/pseuds/pasunedame
Summary: Legolas's musings about his home.





	Of Elvenhome

**Author's Note:**

> My first fic in years. Unbetaed. Feedback (esp constructive criticism) is very much welcome!

Legolas felt the warmth of the sun on his face. He was lying down in a garden, one of the many in the underground caves. He felt grateful for the clever architects of his father’s halls, for providing ways for sunlight to steal its way down the caves. 

He loved his home, no doubt about it. He was born after his father had moved his people to these halls, so perhaps the statement did not carry much weight, for it was the only home he had ever known. Unlike the older elves, he did not know how it feels to uproot himself and move from one home to another. Though he supposed it was no such hardship. After all, his people had taken quickly to their new underground home, despite it being somewhat unnatural for them. Unnatural, because unlike the Iathrim of his father’s people, his mother’s Tawarwaith had never lived in caves before, always among their beloved trees. 

He loved his home, indeed, though something in him always wanted to feel sunlight on his face, to be able to see the stars simply by opening his windows and looking up, instead of having to go to the gates first. His mother, he knew, had felt the same. What little memories Legolas had of her had been those of spending days and nights under the open sky. Never far from the halls, of course, but whenever the weather permitted they had stayed outside. His father sometimes joined them, sometimes not. It was one of the few traits Legolas inherited from his departed mother, the other being his affinity with the bow. Sometimes he felt that he was too much his father’s son and not enough his mother’s, so few of herself left in him. 

Though he could not truthfully say he saw his father much in himself. He had inherited Thranduil’s looks, yes, and people always said that they are remarkably alike. But Legolas never could really understand Thranduil. His father was always elusive to him, like a feather blown by the wind just as his hand close around it. For all their superficial similarities, their differences ran too deep. Take this cave.

Thranduil had always seemed more content to be in the cave compared to Legolas. That is not to say he did not like to be outside. Like all elves, he loved the stars and enjoyed spending time with the trees and other creatures of the forest. But he never exhibited the urge to go outside as his mother had been. Sometimes weeks went by before Thranduil went up to the forest, while Legolas always felt restless if a week passed by without him going up. 

It was because of Menegroth, Legolas was sure. His father never really talked about his lost childhood home with him. What little he shared, he shared in passing, some little remarks dropped here and there. The other elves from Doriath had been more open, especially his tutor, who had travelled with his grandfather from Menegroth to Sirion to Lindon and finally to Greenwood. They provided him with many tales regarding the Thousand Caves, it’s true, but he never saw it through his father’s eyes. Oh, he had seen pictures, of course, there are paintings and tapestries from Menegroth that survived and now graced the halls. Moreover, the halls themselves were made in the image of Menegroth, though less grand. But still he did not know what his father was like in those days. Legolas supposed it was just another side of his father he would never really see, another mystery that made up the being that is Thranduil.

But did it matter, truly? Legolas used to think so, used to resent the thought of never truly knowing all there is to know about Thranduil. But lately he had begun to see it from another perspective. He might never know his father as thoroughly as he’d like to, but he knew the important things. He knew where he and his father stood with each other. They knew what they meant to each other. And they both shared the same deep regard for their home, regardless of their different attitudes towards it. And that, in the end, mattered more than anything, Legolas thought. 

“Good weather we have today, it seems,” a voice as warm as the sunlight on his face woke him up from his musings. Legolas sat up. 

“It is, Ada.”

His father smiled. “Why are you down here, then? I have never known you to stay inside on a sunny day.”

Warmth blossomed in his heart for his father’s gentle teasing. Legolas stood up, and held his hand out. “I was wondering if you would walk with me.”

“Seeing as the Council has deigned to leave me alone for the rest of the day, I don’t see why not.” With that, his father took his hand, and together, they walked outside.

**Author's Note:**

> Iathrim (S) : People of the fence, the Elves of Doriath.  
> Tawarwaith (S) : Wood-elves.
> 
> "Sindar" is actually a Quenya word, a name given by the Noldor. Since the fic is from Legolas's POV, I thought it was a bit unrealistic if he refer to himself using the term.
> 
> The Elvenking's Halls was created after T.A. 1050.


End file.
